Miss Congeniality
by MemoirsofaLostCause
Summary: "Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger?" "No, I'm not. I'm hoping to do some good in the world!" Unfortunately, that's exactly where she ends up and, unfortunately, it's exactly as bad as she thinks it is. A quick story about Hermione and her unfortunate run-ins with the press. Minor Dramione. Rated T because I'm paranoid.


Voices shrilled, paper airplanes whizzed about, some members shared exasperated sighs and the others looked daggers— the prosecutors were at a crossroads. This was most definitely a recurring practice. Some wondered why they even tried to keep peace, others worried about the country's future, and one-just one- truly regretted ever joining the Wizengamot. Oh yes, Hermione Granger had an ill feeling, and it was inadequacy. She had discovered a situation that she couldn't control and it ate her up and spat her out.

Hermione Granger was dealing with politics- and this was a harder demon to fight than Voldemort. Ten-fold.

"Ladies and gentlemen— I have reached the conclusion that…" as Hermione spoke, chaos still reigned over the courtroom; the Junior Undersecretary, Terry Boot, having an intense row with the Court Scribe, Anthony Goldstein, over the proper spelling of judicial terms and Head Warlock, Neville Longbottom, was having a go at Prime Minister, Theodore Nott.

"OI! SHUT IT!" Shouted Hermione, rising with her breath heaving and glaring around the courtroom, showing no mercy towards her former House members, nor those bashful and respectful enough to blush. She ended her hawkish, predatory stare on the accused, Blaise Zabini, before straightening her robes and addressing her peers one last time. "If you are all _finished_, I would like to end this case before the sun burns out or we bicker until our lungs collapse. Now— I believe that we ended with the restatement the crimes. If we could _civilly_ restart from that point, I would be most _grateful_ that we could say we actually got somewhere before ripping each other's throats out like barbarians. Don't you?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Nott, would you care to begin?"

"Uh… right. Err, okay." The only resounding noise in the room was Nott's rustling of papers and unintelligible mutterings. "Well, here we are; Disciplinary hearing of the twenty-second of March into offenses committed under the Ordinance"…

* * *

A very disgruntled and irate Hermione Granger left Courtroom 5 in a rush. One of the last remaining Death Eaters' conviction was going to be a field day for the Prophet; one reporter in particular, Susan Archer, was definitely having the year of her life; Archer managed to cover each of Hermione's most cringe-worthy events: the end of Hermione and Ron's engagement, Hermione's hexing of a Pureblood who was brazen enough to punish her house elf in the middle of Diagon Alley, and everyone's favourite, when Cormac McLaggen "spilled" punch on her light, chiffon dress at the Ministry Ball (in retrospect, Hermione should've hexed him–if only her face wasn't brighter than Ron's ears).

Hermione ducked and rushed through the crowds, looking for a restroom-or even a supply closet- to straighten her robes and reshape her hair. In her rush to escape the sluggish queue to the Atrium, Hermione dropped her files and groaned in resignation as all of her impeccably coded notes dove to the ground, creating a tide of parchment. In her moment of desperation, she sunk to her knees, trying to collect what she could of her work in order for her to leave the Ministry without being interrogated by the reporters- her quick bathroom break was now out of the pictures. Becoming even more frustrated after being kicked and stumbled upon by most of her coworkers, she decided to leave what wasn't in arm's length and pray to Merlin that she could still make it out unseen. She righted herself and made for the Floo when she heard it- the clock chiming the eleventh-hour.

"Ms. Granger!"

_Bloody hell. That's it!_

She made a dash for it, knocking people over and shouting apologies over her shoulder. The Floo was only 5 yards away when she rammed into solid flesh, knocking her files over for the second time. She looked up and silently cursed him.

"Dammit, Malfoy! Can't you watch where you're going?"

His eyes widened, then narrowed, as he spat out a piece of her hair. His mouth curled into a snarl and he was about to give her one of his famed outbursts when the first camera flashed.

Hermione saw the flash reflect upon his silver shirt-buttons. She used her last bits of sanity and pleasantness to plead to Circe that the scoundrels left her the hell alone so she could go home, feed her cat, and pretend the day had never happened.

"Ms. Granger!" "Hermione!" "Counselor Granger!"

Alas, she heard her condemnation in the form of quills being dipped into ink pots, cameras clicking, and catching breath. She let down her guard long enough for Malfoy to see that she was in no state to deal with the tabloids today. She bargained with the devil.

He smirked his damning smirk, righted her, shifted her papers with his foot, and turned her to embrace the hellfire.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

Hermione Granger was pissed. Unfortunately, unlike yesterday, she awoke early enough to see her face splattered on the front page of the Morning Prophet. With Malfoy whispering in her ear. And her blushing. Today's article: "Even the Sententious Ms. Granger Can't Say No to a Bad Boy", by Susan Archer.

Hermione skimmed the first few paragraphs in vain, hoping that there would at least be some coverage about the trial, or the Ministry's conviction of almost all the rogue and remaining Death Eaters, or at least something that did not include how unkempt her hair was. Disgusted, she threw out her tea, fed Crookshanks, and prepared herself for another day of politics.

_Honestly! I should have just done dentistry._

* * *

Hermione's fashion sense snarled upon in the Ministry. With Harry, the messy haired Head of the DMLE and Neville, the tattooed Head Warlock and Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts, the Ministry had much more of a modernised look than it did during Hermione's years at Hogwarts. The corridors were lighter and less foreboding while the offices were more open and everyone embraced colours, instead of the eerie greys. Skirts were shorter, shoes less Victorian, and dressed instead of being pulled into McGonagall-esque buns. All in all, the Ministry of Magic looked amazing. Almost Muggle-like.

However, where there is light, there is always darkness.

Hermione Granger did not wear shirts that showed her shoulders, or skirts above her knees, or any high heel any more risqué than Mary Jane's. She wore greys and browns, studded earrings, and headbands.

This never changed, no matter how many times her coworkers urged or invited her to go shopping; no matter how often people hid Galleons on her desk as a hint. The only person that was more stubborn than Hermione was Ginny; the only person she let dress her for the Ministry Balls and the only person that defended her honour and cuffed McLaggen after the beverage incident.

But today.

Today, Hermione Granger, dressed in pastels of teal and magenta, had her hair flowing instead of billowing around her head, wearing kitten heels. Today, Hermione Granger was ready for the press and today, Hermione Granger was going to show that bint Archer that she was more than what she wore. Today, she was going to hold her own press conference; discuss the finer points of the trial; _and_ explain to the residents of the Wizarding World that their Ministry was doing everything in their power to protect them from those forces of evil that try to take away their freedom. All while wearing whatever the hell she wanted to wear.

Today, Hermione Granger would let the press write whatever they wanted to write about the voluptuous ring on her left hand and her engagement to the notorious Draco Malfoy _after_ they wrote what truly mattered.

For if Hermione Granger-famed as a true hero- was going to look, sound, and be the part. She would show that she could be badass and wear killer shoes; manipulate a corrupted world into doing what was right; stay honest and not let the fame change her mindset; and never let love influence or misguide her actions as an esteemed member of society.

Then, she could go home and feed her cat. And her Malfoy.

**The End.**

* * *

A/N: Hello! This story is completely impromptu, I swear. I was having a bad day today at school- you know those weird looks you get when you actually take that age-old advice and "be yourself"?- so I decided, "hey, why not take Hermione-one of the most criticized characters in HP- and make her into a bigger badass than she already is?" And here you have it! It's not great, nothing I write is really great, but I've been gone for so long I just needed to do _something_. I hope you enjoyed! Please, write a review if you can relate or you hated it or, God forbid, you liked it.

Thanks!

Have a better day than I did!

~Mem


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